


Kings and Vagabonds

by mywishingglass



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Brooding, Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-15 20:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12328494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywishingglass/pseuds/mywishingglass
Summary: Jon Snow is dead. Or that's what everyone thinks. 3 years after the Great War, a rider comes to the ruins of Castle Black and makes a surprising discovery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of my Jonerys Week submissions that I wanted to make into its own separate entry. 
> 
> This is lightly inspired by Lion King and by someone who mentioned wanting a scene where Dany tries to convince Jon to come back with her and take back the Iron Throne. So that’s where the inspiration for this fic is from. But it’s NOT cheesy, it’s a grittier, angstier version of Lion King LOL.
> 
> Please forgive the BS theories on Lightbringer and etc. LOL

The Great War was over.

The living triumphed over the dead. A new chance given to what remained of humanity in Westeros.

But Winter was still here.

Brandon Stark had gone back beyond the wall just before the Great War ended. There was a power further North that he needed to harness in order to counteract the Night King’s greenseer abilities. No one knows how he did it, but it seemed that his efforts did win the war for the living.

Jon Snow, whose lineage as Aegon Targaryen was revealed, fulfilled the legacy that was thrust upon him. The son of ice and fire defeated the dead, taking both the Night King and his dragon out with his sword, the magical Lightbringer, which used to be the old Mormont heirloom, Longclaw. Lightbringer was forged with the blood of his own dragon, Rhaegal, who was suffering from wounds caused by his undead brother, Viserion. As Jon put an end to Rhaegal’s suffering, the sword he drew blazed with a fire that could not be put out. With this new weapon, and with the aid of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragon, Drogon, the Night King and his army were soundly defeated.

But not without consequences.

Drogon lay dying atop a high cliff and Daenerys injured and unconscious beside him. Viserion’s undead body was crumbling into ashes and the Night King stared down at his opponent. Jon was barely breathing, barely alive, but he called up every ounce of whatever strength remained in him and prayed to any god who was listening for aid.

As Jon lifted Lightbringer, a thousand ravens descended from the sky, attacking the Night King. With the Night King blinded and distracted, Jon thrust the sword into him and pushed it in with all his might. The ground beneath the Night King’s feet gave way and they plummeted off the cliff. Lightbringer’s fire gave out as the Night King broke into a thousand shards of ice. Jon closed his eyes as the shards grazed his face. The deed was done. He had fulfilled his mission.

As his body hit the surface of the cold, icy sea, Jon was finally ready for the death that was long overdue.

* * *

 

(3 years later)

In the ruins of what remained of the once mighty stronghold of Castle Black, Tormund Giantsbane peered into the distance out of a wooden lookout facing South. The bitter, ice winds blowing through his unruly red hair.

It had been almost four years of the coldest, most bitter Winter that had ever hit the land, and Tormund knew that there may be a chance that spring would never come. But he was still alive and here he was with what remained of his people, sheltering and surviving in the abandoned structures of Castle Black.

No longer did the Night’s Watch exist as everyone who was still alive after the Great War fled South or East. Tormund hadn’t heard news from the South in over three years but he imagined that people were still living out there somehow, surviving just as they were.

No one dwelled or ventured North anymore, save for the last remaining population of the freefolk. Winterfell was in ashes. All the great Northern fortresses obliterated by the Army of the Dead during the Great War years ago.

But still, life was coming back to the North in other ways. Just the other day, Tormund and two of his men hunted down a young buck in the forests. Now that the Army of the Dead was gone, wildlife had a chance for rebirth, even in the dead of Winter. 

Everything adapts to survive. Life is still winning, somehow.

“Why bother standing here freezing your fucking cock off, Tormund? No one’s been this far North in who knows how fucking long?” A gruff voice grunted behind him.

Tormund turned to see Sandor Clegane, once known as the Hound, grumbling as he walked towards him.

Tormund grinned his usual toothy smile, “Glad to see you up, Dog. Had breakfast?”

Clegane scoffed, “More of that piss and shit you call food? I’ll stick to the goat ale or whatever you fucking wildlings call it.”

“You can’t survive on nothing but drink,” Tormund commented as he turned to face South again.

“I have and I will. I’m not fucking dead yet. If that’s not surviving, then I don’t know what is. I wonder if death would have been easier than this shit.” Clegane spat as he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself.

“You can’t die yet. We still have one more task to do.” Tormund said gruffly as he turned his eyes towards the old Lord Commander’s quarters.

Clegane chuckled sarcastically, “Him? He’s been more eager to die since the day we brought him here. I don’t know why he bothers carrying on the way he does.”

“I’ve been asking him that for years and never got a good answer. He says he wants to look for his brother, but he’s never gone further than the Fist and that was many, many moons ago.”

“Brandon Stark is dead.” The Hound mumbled under his breath.

“We don’t know that,” Tormund responded, his brow furrowing.

“Well, even if he isn’t, Jon Snow may as well be fucking dead too. It’s what he wants everyone to think, anyway—”

“There’s someone coming.” Tormund interrupted in a surprised, hushed voice as in the distance, despite the haze of the winter storm, there indeed was a rider clothed in black on a horse heading their way. 

* * *

 

Jon stared into the flames. His dark curls were long and unruly and his unkempt beard covered half his face.

Melisandre had told him that the Lord of Light spoke to her through the fire, but Jon’s been staring into the damn thing for a good portion of the last three years that he truly believed they were all lies.

His face was gaunt and his frame a lot leaner than it was all those years ago. His dark grey eyes were almost always sullen and sunken in.

His thoughts wandered back to where it always went... to the past.

He remembered crawling on to the shores of some unknown beach, shivering and aching all over. He remembered waking up in a small tent covered in furs and Sandor Clegane standing over him. He remembered begging Clegane not to take him back to Dragonstone or Winterfell – what remained of it at least.

Why did he want people to think he was dead? Why come North?

Jon shook his head. The only thing he knew was he had to get away from the South.

When Bran had told everyone the truth about his parents, Jon never even had time to process anything. They were in the middle of the war. He thought that he’d never have to face it. The truth of who he really was. And who he really was to Dany.

_Dany…_

He knew she was alive. She had to be… and if she was, she would be the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms, succession rights be damned!

He never wanted it and he knew she did. He knew all he would do was get in the way and cause more trouble than he’s already caused.

And if she was dead… it would be because of him. Jon’s face crumpled as he held a fist to his forehead, trying to fight back the emotion.

He saw Drogon fall from the sky with an ice spear in his heart. Saw Dany tumble off of him in mid-air. He had spurred his horse forward and jumped off it when he was close enough. He ran to her, Lightbringer flaming in his hand. She was breathing, he saw, but unconscious. Before he could do anything, the Night King stepped out of the ashes of Viserion, who Drogon had burned before the Night King threw the spear into Drogon's heart. Jon had to fight, he had to leave her. He couldn’t stay next to her.

_She’s alive… she has to be alive…. If she’s dead, I would never forgive myself…_

If there was one thing he regretted, it was in leaving without knowing if she was alive. To not be able explain himself or… if she was dead, to not tell her goodbye and that he loved her.

For the first time in his life, Jon knew he was a coward. For running. For deceiving everyone he loved. 

Jon thought he was doing himself and the country a favor by feigning death. He knew his sisters would never forgive him, if they knew he was still alive. But Jon was tired of fighting, tired of war and kingdoms, and he knew this was the best way for them to understand.

After Clegane had saved him, they headed North and ran into Tormund and the free folk. They enlisted his help in keeping Jon’s life a secret. Though he never understood, Tormund was a faithful friend and all he wanted was to live out the Winter with his people.

Castle Black was a ruin when they came upon it. The old brothers of the Night’s Watch either died or fled. The Wall was broken. There was no need to stand between the North and the Lands Beyond the Wall anymore.

Tormund told Jon that the last thing he heard before running from Winterfell was that Bran needed to find another weirwood tree North of the Wall. Meera and her father Howland Reed, took up the mission to venture north with the Stark boy once again. With the Army of the Dead moving south, it was an easy feat making it past the Wall without any threat to their life.

They haven’t been heard since and Jon made it his mission to at least find his brother and maybe, Bran could tell him if Dany was alive or not and what he could do now that his mission to save the world was now fulfilled.

But it had been months since Jon last left Castle Black. Jon didn’t know why he lost the motivation to keep searching. Just as he didn’t know why he bothered to keep nourishing his body as his spirit dwindled. So here he was. Stuck in between life and death.

 _As it always has been…_  Jon thought morosely.

“A rider! A rider at the gate!”

Jon’s thoughts were broken by Tormund’s loud call.

_A rider? In the North?_

Jon stood up and pulled his sword out of its sheath.

Whoever it was, it can’t be a friend. Perhaps someone had gotten the word out that he was alive. Have they come to take him?

Jon threw open the door of his quarters and walked down the steps to the frozen courtyard. The free folk were peering out of the windows and some gathering in the courtyard as well, curious to see the visitor.

Jon gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as the gates opened.

The rider trotted their horse in a slow gait as it passed the entrance to Castle Black. The rider wore a heavy cloak of furs, a hood closely pulled up over their head and a mask covering their face, so Jon couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman.

As the horse reached the centre of the courtyard, Jon and the other inhabitants of Castle Black surrounded the rider. Tormund and Clegane were quickly making their way to the courtyard as well.

The rider held both gloved hands up, to show they meant no harm although Jon could see the hilt of a sword peeking out from underneath their cloak.

“Come off your horse and reveal yourself.” Jon commanded, his sword at the ready.

“Jon?”

It was a woman’s voice.

The rider dismounted from her horse, her voice almost breathing out the words, “Jon, is it really you?”

“Who are you?” Jon asked menacingly, holding his sword with both hands.

The rider pulled down her hood, revealing shortly cropped silver hair.

“It’s me…” she said, as she pulled the mask down from her face.

Her silver hair may be cut short but Jon could never mistake those lavender eyes anywhere.

“Dany…” Jon whispered as his jaw dropped open, he could almost feel tears of relief creep up behind his eyes and his heart tightened.

_She was alive! She looked different, but she’s alive!_

He stepped towards her but Dany stepped back. The look of surprise and joy in her eyes were immediately replaced with a dark fire of fury and resentment.

Dany pulled out her sword and swung at Jon with full force.

Jon automatically parried her swing in confusion, “Wha- Dany, what are you-”

Tormund, Clegane and a few free folk unsheathed their weapons as well but Jon yelled, “No! Stay back!” as he evaded another of Dany’s attacks.

It had been a long time since Jon had needed to wield his sword and he was out of practice.

Dany swung her sword twice at him until she found an opening to knee him in the stomach and shoved him to the ground. As she brought her sword down on him with a yell, Jon blocked it at the last second wondering how she got so strong and skilled with a sword.

“Dany… why are you …” Jon grunted as he pushed against her sword.

Dany gritted her teeth as she pushed her sword harder on his, “How… dare… you…”

“I’m... really...sorry…” Jon heaved as he felt her sword come down closer to him.

Dany pulled back and knocked his sword out of his hand. She brought the edge of her sword to his neck, breathing hard.

“I should kill you, right here, right now.” She seethed, as she pressed the blade against his skin.

For the first time in years, Jon’s face broke into a light smile, “I won’t stop you. I’m just happy you’re alive.”

Jon could see Dany’s lower lip tremble and the tears glistening in her eyes.

Dany threw her sword to the side, grabbed Jon by the collar of his cloak and kissed him hard on the lips.

Tormund and Clegane glanced at each other in confusion, eyebrows raised.

“What the fuck is going on?” Clegane asked under his breath as Tormund shrugged with a grin.

* * *

 

“When was the last time you even had a proper bath?” Dany asked as she carefully ran the blade of a razor along Jon’s lower jaw.

Jon was sitting in a bathtub in the middle of his quarters. Dany insisted on a warm bath and that he join her. Dany sat on a stool next to him, the silver tips of her hair still dripping wet. She had on one of Jon’s undershirts and a thin cloak was draped loosely over her shoulders to keep her back warm. The tub was placed close to the hearth which provided some well-needed heat to the cold room.

“Probably not since you last shaved me this way.” Jon responded with a soft smile as he leaned back on the tub, enjoying the way she meticulously handled the razor close to his face.

“That was almost four years ago, Jon.” Dany said sternly.

“Aye.” Jon responded.

Dany simply frowned at him.

“You shouldn’t cut it all off. I need my face warm and I’m sure it warms you as well.” Jon said teasingly.

A blush passed Dany’s cheeks as she cleaned off the razor in a small bucket of water beside her.

“Alright.” She said putting the razor away and instead reached for a pair of steel shears as she trimmed his beard.

A moment of silence passed, the only sound was the cackling of the fire and the snipping of the shears.

“You cut your hair.” Jon commented.

Dany paused as she responded, “I did.”

“Why?”

Dany didn’t answer as she resumed grooming him. Moving to his hair this time, the sound of the shears’ clipping quietly.

“I really am sorry, Dany.” Jon said softly, “And I really am happy to see you here… alive. When I saw you last I thought…”

Dany stopped what she was doing and exhaled hard through her nose.

“What do you think people are going to say when they find out you’ve been here? Alive? All this time? And your sisters, how do you think they’d feel?” Dany said through gritted teeth, accidentally tugging hard at his hair.

“Ow.” Jon said, wincing as he looked at her.

Dany looked unfazed as she set aside the shears and picked up a piece of cloth to dry his hair.

“They don’t have to know. No one has to know.” Jon stated soberly.

“What are you talking about?” Dany retorted, “Everyone thinks you’re dead, Jon! Everyone except for Tormund and Clegane, it seems.”

“I know.”

“You know?" Dany asked furiously, as she stood up throwing the cloth at his face. "So this was all some part of some stupid plan?”  

Dany's cloak slipped from her shoulder but she didn't seem to notice.

“Dany…” Jon said softly as he watched Dany walk towards the fireplace, placing a hand on the mantle.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through, what this country has been through, for the last three years. We really needed you, Jon. I needed you.” Dany said, fighting back tears, “It’s almost like I’m back at Eastwatch all those years ago, thinking you’re dead. It’s like I’m standing at the watchtower again almost giving up hope… but then here you are… alive… again.”

Dany looked at Jon, a trace of anger deep in her brows but the shimmer of tears was in her eyes.

“You don’t know what this means to everyone who loves you, knowing you’re alive. You don’t know what it means to me.”

Jon stood up from the tub and wrapped the cloth around his waist as he stepped out. He walked close to Dany and hugged her from behind, pressing his lips to her neck.

“I know that it means the world to me to know my sisters are alive… to know you’re alive. To feel you here, warm and breathing.” Jon whispered into her skin.

“I’ve really missed you.” Dany whispered back as a tear fell unto her cheek

Jon turned Dany around so she could face him, he brushed away her tears with his palm.

“I missed you too.” Jon said softly.

He bent down to kiss her and she kissed him back passionately, wrapping her arms around him.

* * *

Jon and Dany lay naked in his bed together, his hand caressing her back and her head on his chest.

As Jon looked down at her, he missed her long, silver locks that he enjoyed running his fingers through but as he brushed the tips of her short hair, he thought he could get used to this too.

“What happened after you defeated the Night King? Where did you go? Why did you run?” Dany asked as she sat up to look at him.

Jon knew this was bound to come up one way or another.

“I didn’t and have never wanted to be King. I accepted being King in the North because my people needed me to be. But the Seven Kingdoms?" Jon sighed, "I thought if I left, if everyone thought I was dead, it would be easier for you to take the Iron Throne without people arguing over who had the right to it.”

Dany frowned, “You didn’t even know if I was alive.”

Jon swallowed hard as he held her face, “And that will forever be my one regret. I swear to you.”

“Tell me what happened on that cliff.” Dany said, choosing to listen instead of starting another argument.

“After I killed the Night King, we fell off a cliff. I lost Lightbringer to the sea when I fell in. I thought I was finally going to die but it seems the Lord of Light or whatever god exists still wanted me alive. Clegane found me on the beach. He saved my life. I asked him not to take me South or to Winterfell. I decided to head to the Wall, Tormund met us along the way. Bran is still lost somewhere North of the Wall, I thought I could at least find him. See if he’s alive, ask him questions.”

Jon took a deep breath after unloading his story.

“I'm tired of fighting, Dany. I told Sansa the same thing before she convinced me to take back Winterfell. I knew if I had to keep fighting, it would be for the living. And the living won. I thought I had served my purpose and death would be the next natural step. But when I didn’t die after defeating the Night King, I knew that I didn't want to fight you or Cersei or anyone else. I thought it’d be easier to just make you all believe I died fulfilling my purpose of saving everyone.”

Dany looked away and hugged her knees, “That was incredibly selfish of you.”

Jon sighed in frustration as he leaned back on his pillow, “You don’t understand, Dany.”

“Then help me understand.” Dany insisted, glaring at him, “Do you even know what’s happened to Westeros after the Great War?”

“No.” Jon said as he looked at her, “All the ravens that lived here have either died or was eaten. We haven’t had a raven fly this way in over 2 years.”

“Cersei is still on the Iron Throne, Jon. The Great War decimated my armies. All my dragons are gone. Cersei had the Golden Company... she still does! She was going to slaughter us all.” Dany said grimly.

“What?” Jon asked, disbelief in his eyes as he sat up as well.

“I fled back to Essos with what remained of my Unsullied and Dothraki. Both your sisters, Lady Brienne, Davos and Tyrion went with me. We couldn’t even start a search for you to know if you were truly dead.” Dany said softly. She got out of bed, wrapping the bed sheet around her.

Jon watched as she poured herself a glass of water and took a slow sip.

“We needed you, Jon.” Dany said as she looked down at the glass in her hand, “We need you. Now more than ever.”

“Dany, I can’t.” Jon responded as he reached for a pair of his breeches on the floor.

“Why?” Dany asked as she turned around.

“I already told you, Dany. I’m done fighting and I don’t want to be King. I played my part and my part is done.” Jon said roughly as he threw on his clothes.

“The people of Westeros are still dying and it isn’t the Army of the Dead that’s killing them.” Dany retorted, her eyes blazing, “Cersei has taken all the resources left in this country and she allows the Golden Company to rape, pillage and starve our people.”

“Our people?” 

“Yes.  _Our_  people. The people of Westeros are  _our_  people. My family has ruled and protected them for centuries until my father betrayed that duty. I thought I was the last of my family and when I found out the truth, I was more relieved that you could ever imagine. That the man I loved was also of my blood, my one last kin. You told me once before that my family hasn't seen its end because I was still here. But now I realize it's not just me anymore.  _We_  are still here.” Dany said firmly as she walked towards him.

Jon looked at her with a somber face, his jaw clenched, “The one thing I truly wanted in my life, was to be a trueborn son. To be Ned Stark’s trueborn son. To no longer be a bastard.”

“And you’re not a bastard, Jon.” Dany said as she held his arms, “You are the true born son of my brother, Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Jon turned away from her, almost grimacing at the sound of his true Father’s name, “All my life, I’ve convinced myself and everyone else that I wasn’t a Stark. That I wasn’t worthy of that name. But a Targaryen? I don’t even know what that means." Jon sat on his chair, his shoulders slumped, he almost looked defeated. "At least being half a Stark, being half of Ned Stark, was something I knew, and I took pride in that. But my real parents are strangers to me. And in the end… I’m still not a true Stark.”

Dany felt a wave of pity and remorse as she walked towards him. She bent down and held his face in her hands, looking into his eyes intently.

“But you  _are_  a Stark. You’ve always been a Stark. And Ned Stark was a truer father to you than my brother ever could be. But you cannot deny that the blood of the dragon runs through your veins just as it does mine." Dany gently caressed his cheek, "You don’t have to choose. You never  _had_  to choose. You are both a Stark  _and_  a Targaryen. The son of ice  _and_  fire. The true King of Westeros and heir to the Iron Throne.”

As Jon’s dark grey eyes stared into her pale violet ones, her words echoed sentiments he told someone else a long time ago.

"Do you not want the Iron Throne anymore?" Jon asked her softly.

"I do." Dany answered firmly, "And I want you by my side when we take it."

Jon heaved a deep breath and turned his face away from her touch.

Dany let her hands fall, confused and hurt by his reaction.

Jon stood up and walked closer to the fireplace, his arms crossed, “You said you were in Essos. Why did you come back?”

“For help.” Dany answered as she rose from her crouched position, “We got a message that help could be found North of the Wall. A raven brought it all the way to our manse in Essos a few months ago. It was difficult to get back, with Euron Greyjoy’s ships patrolling the water. But Ser Davos managed to smuggle us all back to Westeros safely.”

Jon looked at her, “Why did you come North alone? You could have gotten hurt or—”

Dany lifted her head resolutely, “I can take care of myself, Jon. As you very well saw earlier.”

 Jon narrowed his eyes, “I did wonder about that.”

“Your sister Arya and Lady Brienne are masterful sword trainers and I’ve learned that if I ever did come back to Westeros, I would have to learn to fight with my own hands. All the dragons are gone now. But  _we_  are still here.”

Jon felt his jaw clench at the mention of his heritage again. “You said you left to find help.”

“Yes. And I found you.” Dany responded.

Jon shook his head, “I can’t help anyone now. I have no armies, no men. I can't even win a swordfight.”

“We can still take back this country. Together. Just like we’ve always done.” Dany said trying to approach Jon again.

Jon scoffed at her as he walked past her to grab his cloak and gloves.

“Where are you going?” Dany asked in a frustrated tone. 

“Out. I need to think.” Came Jon’s simple reply.

“You can’t just walk away, Jon…. Jon!” Dany yelled after him as he walked out and shut the door behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon runs away again but ends up finding what he's looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too happy with this chapter. I've been battling with a mental block on this story.  
> I didn't want it to follow the Lion King storyline too closely but without even thinking it totally is. I'm trying not to make it cheesy LOL I'll do my best to keep it grounded but it's hard with "Can you feel the love tonight?" playing in the background of my mind, haha!
> 
> I apologize in advance if the visions are confusing. I think they're supposed to be. But anyway, thank you to everyone for your comments and for reading my silly stories :)

Jon spurred his horse forward into the storm.

He wasn’t certain where he wanted to go, only that he had to get away. There he was. Running away again. Just like he did three years ago.

Jon gritted his teeth and shut his eyes as he leaned forward on his steed.

_Go North. Only North…_

Jon didn’t know how long he had been riding. It could have been a few hours. He needed to rest his horse lest it die from exhaustion.

Jon reared his horse to a stop and looked around the snowy forest. He dismounted, breathing hard. Jon watched the fog from his mouth fade into the icy winds.

_You don’t have to choose. You are both a Stark and a Targaryen. The son of ice and fire. The true King of Westeros and heir to the Iron Throne._

Dany’s words echoed in his mind.

 _You’re wrong… I’m not the true king and I can’t go back. I’m sorry Dany… I can’t!_   Jon screamed in his head.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go back. He had already made his choice three years ago and that choice was to disappear. He had done his duty, he protected the realm from the dead and the living won. What more was there for him to do? What purpose could he serve?

_Cersei on the Iron Throne…_

_No!_ Jon thought, _I can’t get involved. It’s not my war anymore. It’s Dany’s war, not mine._

Jon trudged through the snow, the reins of his horse in his hand. The storm was getting stronger and Jon groaned as a blast of cold wind pushed him back.

The faces of his sisters came to his mind and it further convinced Jon that he couldn’t, he wouldn’t go back and face them. There was too much shame. He didn’t even want to think about what Arya would say or the expression on Sansa’s face when they find out that he was alive all this time.

_Dany was right. They would be furious._

Just then, Jon heard a loud caw above the roar of the snowstorm. Looking up, Jon saw a large, black raven perched on a branch of a tree that swayed furiously in the wind.

_A raven? Bran?_

Jon’s heart started to beat faster at the thought of his brother.

_Bran…_

As Jon approached the raven, it took flight.

Jon screamed, “Bran! No! Wait!”

Jon mounted his horse and urged his steed forward into the storm. He couldn’t lose sight of the raven. He had to follow it.

The snow was blowing into his face but Jon could make out the black speck flying through the trees.

_No… Bran, please… wait for me… let me find you…_

All of a sudden, Jon felt a sudden jolt as his horse brayed loudly and threw him off. Jon landed on a snow bank and groaned. He looked up to find that his horse had fallen into a shallow pit and was neighing wildly. Jon picked himself up but just as he was about to make his way to his horse, the snowy ground beneath his feet gave way and Jon cried out as the darkness enveloped him.

 

* * *

 

“Jon…. Jon….”

Jon could hear someone calling his name. He felt a warm light surround him.

“Wake up, Jon.”

Jon opened his eyes. His back and head ached terribly. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Jon realized that he was in some sort of cave, yet he couldn’t see the hole from where he fell in. As he lifted himself up, Jon could feel that he was lying on a bed of roots, which explained the pain in his back.

He heard his name whispered and Jon recognized the voice.

“Bran!” Jon called out into the darkness as he struggled to get up on his feet. The cave was narrow and as he stood, Jon could feel his head barely touch the ceiling.

_Jon…._

Jon noticed a faint orange light flicker in the corner of his eyes and he maneuvered his way through the tight corners of the cave, searching for the source of the glow.

“Bran!” Jon cried out again as he chased the light. As the light grew closer, Jon gasped when he had exited from the narrow corridor and into a wide open space.

He found himself standing in front of a weirwood tree. Which seemed strange as weirwoods never grew underground or in caves. Yet this one did.

Jon placed his hand on the carved face of the tree. The orange glow was emanating from behind it.

 _Am I in a dream?_  Jon thought as he ran his fingers over the trunk.

 _No…_ came Bran’s whispered answer.

“Bran. Please.” Jon begged. He lay his head against the wood of the tree and closed his eyes, “I need to see you. Please.”

“Hello, Jon.”

Jon’s eyes flew open and he turned around.

There was his brother standing in front of him, alive and well, no longer a cripple. He looked the same as when Jon had seen him almost four years ago.

Jon felt tears fill his eyes, “Bran?”

Bran managed a small smile. It had been so long since Jon had seen Bran smile but as Jon walked towards his brother, Bran held up his hand.

“Don’t come closer. I’m not really here. This is just how I want you to see me.” Bran stated in a clear but soft voice. He sounded almost other-worldly, ethereal and detached.

Jon felt a lump in his throat, “Are you dead, Bran? Am I?”

“No. You’re not dead.” Bran answered, “And I… I’m the three-eyed raven. I can’t really say I’m dead but I’m not really part of the living either.”

“I’ve been looking for you, all these years, searching for you as far as I could—”

“I know.” Bran stated, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Jon looked confused as he stepped back, “Then… why now? Where have you been all this time? Why did you let me find you?”

“It wasn’t the right time.” Came his brother’s simple reply.

“But it is now? Why? Because of Dany? Because she found me and wants to bring me back? Is that what you want to tell me?” Jon asked, tears of joy turning into frustration.

Bran looked at him with a knowing gaze, smiling slightly, “There’s something I want to show you. You wouldn’t have understood before. But now, you will.”

Jon was more confused than ever and he was about to ask another question when Bran disappeared.

“Bran?”

Then he heard his brother’s voice in his head,

_Touch the tree, Jon. Then you’ll understand._

Jon turned back to the weirwood tree. What almost looked like fresh blood started to seep from its carved eyes. Jon swallowed hard as he tentatively reached out a hand. He could hear his heart beating wildly in his ears.

He hesitated for a moment before he pressed his hand against the rough wood.

Jon heard a scream.

All of a sudden, a torrent of visions passed through his eyes and he heard the voices and whispers of people speaking all at once.

_A bed of blood…_

_Olly stabbing him in the heart…_

_His father’s head being decapitated from his body by his own sword…_

_“Promise me, Ned.”_

_Robb getting stabbed…_

_Ghost being trampled upon by the army of the dead…_

_Rhaegal falling from the sky…_

_“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”_

_Arya jumping into his arms…_

_Grenn, Pyp and Sam laughing together…_

_“For the Watch.”_

_Rickon’s body falling to the ground…_

_“Bastard…”_

_Ygritte’s pyre in flames…_

_Sansa smiling at him, giving him his new cloak…_

_“You’re the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and our aunt, Lyanna Stark”_

As the visions passed, Jon tried to yell but no sound came from his lips.

_The Night King resurrecting the dead at Hardhome…_

_Viserion falling into the lake…_

_Winterfell burning in blue flames…_

_“You have my blood…”_

Suddenly the visions and sounds stopped, and Jon heard a single voice.

_“But you are a Stark. You’ve always been a Stark…But you cannot deny that the blood of the dragon runs through your veins just as it does mine.”_

_Dany…_

A bright line shone through his eyes and as it cleared, he saw Dany standing in front of him. Her long silver braids falling down her back. She was naked and standing by the fireplace in their old room at Winterfell. She turned to look at him.

“I love you.” She whispered with a soft smile.

_This was before the Night King attacked… Before the chaos…_

Just then, Jon’s vision turned black.

_“Together…”_

* * *

 

Jon opened his eyes. He looked around him. He was standing on green grass. He recognized this place.

_Winterfell… I’m home…_

He was standing in the middle of the godswood before the great weirwood tree next to a small pond.

It had been years since Jon saw green leaves on trees and there were fish swimming in the pond that rippled as the wind blew across it.

_Is this a memory?_

“Jon.” He heard a familiar voice call.

Jon felt his breath catch in his throat as he slowly turned around, “Father?”

“Father!” A small boy rushed past Jon and into the arms of a younger looking Ned Stark.

Jon felt the emotions fill his chest as his mouth gaped in disbelief.

“What’s wrong?” Ned asked with concern.

The young Jon was in tears. He must have been about four or five years old.

“The other boys… they said I couldn’t play with them… they called me a bastard… they said my mother was a… was a…” the young Jon cried.

“Was what?”

The little boy whispered, “A whore. And that she left me all alone.”

“Now listen to me, Jon,” Ned said in a serious tone, “Your mother isn’t a whore and she loved you very much.”

“But they said…” the little Jon started to say.

“Who are you going to believe? Some stable boys or your father?” Ned asked.

Little Jon sniffed, “Why am I a bastard, father? Does it mean Robb‘s a better son than me?”

“No, Jon. You and Robb, you’re both my sons. Don’t ever forget that, alright?” Ned said in a gentle voice as he embraced the boy.

And then as if Ned could see the older Jon standing a few feet away, he said, “No matter what anyone says, you are and will always be a Stark. You must never forget who you are. One day, when you’re older, I’ll tell you the truth about your mother. About how much she wanted to be here, to watch you grow. But she isn’t here right now, so you have to be strong. Will you promise me you’ll be strong, Jon?”

Ned’s eyes stared directly into Jon's as if he was waiting for an answer from him.

Jon murmured in one soft breath, “Yes, Father.”

“Yes, Father.” Little Jon replied simultaneously.

Suddenly, Little Jon and Ned disappeared. Jon looked around for them but saw no one. A strong breeze blew and Jon could hear the hollow echo of footsteps on a wet stone floor.

 

Jon turned again and found himself in the Winterfell crypts. The green of the godswood replaced by the red cavernous glow of candles. His father was standing a few meters away from him, gazing intently at something Jon couldn’t see.

Ned Stark was much older here. This was how his father looked on the day they left Winterfell.

Jon walked closer to him, wishing his father could see him.

As if Ned had read his thoughts, he started to speak.

“I wish I could hear your voice. It’s been so long now, I almost can’t remember it.”

_Are you speaking to me, Father?_

“There has never been a day that’s gone by when you didn’t cross my mind. I see you in his face everyday. I’ve tried to do the best that I possibly could to keep my promise. He's safe. He’s strong. He’s good. You would be so proud of him, Lyanna. I know you would.”

As Jon stepped closer to him, he realized Ned was talking to Lyanna's statue.

Ned continued in a low voice, “It may be awhile before you hear from me again. I’m leaving for King’s Landing to be Robert's Hand and Jon… Jon decided to take the black with Benjen. I know you would have wanted a different future for him but I think this may be the best way to keep him safe. He's a man now, Lyanna, though he’s not much older than you were when you...”

Ned's voice trailed off as he reached out a hand to touch the statue’s face, “I miss you, little sister. And Jon misses you too though he doesn’t know it. But I promise I’ll tell him, when the time is right. He will know the truth. It almost breaks my heart to think about it. He’s your son… but I’ve come to think of him as mine.”

“Father…” Jon cried out as he approached Ned.

Ned started to walk away and Jon wanted to chase after him but his feet stayed rooted to the ground. Jon stared down at his feet wondering why he couldn't move.

 

“Please…please stay.” A woman’s voice begged.

Jon looked up and he found himself in a strange and unfamiliar room.

_Another vision._

Looking out the window, the sun was streaming in. He seemed to be in a tower of some sort. A woman, who looked heavy with child, held on to the arm of a man clad in black armour.

The woman had long, dark hair and she was dressed in a light blue robe. The man had silver-blonde hair that framed his face, his eyes a piercing lilac shade.

Jon swallowed hard. These were his parents… Rhaegar and Lyanna.

“I have to go, Lyanna. I can’t just let Robert take away what doesn’t belong to him. The throne belongs to my father, to me… and to our son.”

Tears fell from Lyanna's eyes, “How do you even know it’s a boy?”

Rhaegar managed a small smile as he held her face and said with certainty, “It’s a boy.”

Arya was almost a spitting image of Lyanna, down to the furrow of her eyebrows. Rhaegar had Dany's eyes and her smile.

As Jon looked at his true father, he understood why his mother loved him. He was every bit the Dragon Prince of the stories Jon has heard growing up. It made him think of the first time he saw Dany at Dragonstone. How in awe he was of her Valyrian beauty and the strength that emanated from her. Jon saw the same in Rhaegar.

“Will you come back to me soon? You must be here when the baby comes. If it is a boy, he will want to be in his father’s arms.” Lyanna said in a sad voice as she held on to Rhaegar and rested her head on his chest plate that was adorned in rubies.

“I’ll return as soon as I can. Arthur, Gerold and Oswell will be here to protect you while I’m gone.” Rhaegar said as he bent down to kiss Lyanna's lips.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“And I love you.” She responded in a whisper.

Without another word, Rhaegar left through the open door.

 

The scene shifted with the wind. Jon was still standing in the same spot of the room but the day looked much different. More dark and foreboding.

There were women running in and out of the rooms carrying sheets soaked in blood. The bed itself was drenched in red.

Jon saw a young Ned Stark leaning over the dying Lyanna, her bloodied hands holding her brother's face.

“His name is Aegon Targaryen.” She whispered in Ned’s ear, “He is Rhaegar's son. You have to protect him. Robert will kill him if he finds out. Promise me, Ned. Promise me you’ll keep him safe. Promise me.”

In Ned’s arms was a newborn baby boy, sleeping soundly.

Jon stepped back as he watched the scene unfold. His mind stubborn and confused, he didn’t know why Bran was showing him all this.

“Do you see now, Jon?”

Jon looked to his side to see his brother standing in the room with his arms behind his back.

"See what?"

"Who you are born to be."

Jon shook his head, “I don’t understand any of this. What does it mean?”

“It means it’s time to make your choice.”

“Choice?”

“Your father… your mother… our father… they all risked their lives for you. For who you are. Will you let their efforts die in vain?”

Jon felt the guilt and the fear rise in his chest, “I never asked for any of this, Bran!”

“No one asks to have the blood of kings, Jon. And you have the blood of kings and of dragons…”

 

Jon was standing on a cliff and he saw himself on Rhaegal’s back. Jon remembered how it felt to be on the back of the dragon. The wind in his hair, the warmth of Rhaegal’s back, the feeling of flying high above the ground and over the seas. It was an inexplicable, unforgettable experience. Jon gravely missed it.

 

“Just like her…”

“Her?” Jon asked as his eyes fixed on Rhaegal disappearing into the clouds.

 “You didn’t forget, did you?” Bran asked, “Your promise to her…”

 

“Promise me you won’t ever leave me.” A woman's gentle voice said.

Jon closed his eyes. He knew this vision without even seeing it.

He could already see the bed in which he and Dany were lying on. Their clothes discarded on the floor. They were on the ship to White Harbour. Weeks before the Great War.

He heard his own chuckle, “I think I’ve learned the dangers of a Stark making promises.”

“I don’t care. I want to hear it from you.” Dany insisted.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Dany sighed, “I’m not sure. It’s almost like I could feel something's going to happen that’ll take you away from me.”

The Jon in the vision held Dany's face in his hand, “We’re in the middle of a war, Dany. When the Night King comes, we could all die at that very moment.”

“That's why I want you to promise me. Even in death, I want you by my side.” Dany stated firmly.

“You really are something, Daenerys Stormborn.” Jon responded with a teasing smile, “How could any man refuse you when you’re glaring at them like that?”

“I’m serious, Jon. I’m frightened. I’ve never been this frightened before. I’ve lost so much… don’t make me lose you too.” Dany said with tears in her eyes.

He kissed her softly on the lips as he moved on top of her, “If it makes my queen smile then yes, I promise I will never leave you.”

“No matter what?” she pressed on, murmuring against his lips.

“No matter what. Now stop talking.” The Jon in the vision fell upon Dany and kissed her passionately before pulling her underneath the sheets.

 

The present Jon opened his eyes, the vision dissipated and all he saw was his brother.

“Yes, Bran. I remember that promise. I broke it. I failed her. I failed our father. I failed my mother. I failed Rhaegar. I failed them all.” Jon whispered in a weak and defeated voice.

“You didn’t. It’s not too late. It’s not too late to keep your promise.”

Jon clenched his fists, “How can I? How can I go back? I’ve done so much wrong. I can't change the past...”

“Remember who you are, Jon.”

_The true king of Westeros and heir to the Iron Throne… We need you…_

Dany's words echoed again in his mind. It was all too much.

Jon covered his face in his hands and fell to his knees.

When Jon allowed himself to look up. He was back in the cave in front of the weirwood tree. At the foot of the tree was a sword sheathed in its scabbard. It was a sword Jon had thought he would never see again.

Jon reached for the sword, "Longclaw? But... how?"

The last time he saw this sword, it had been Lightbringer and had fallen into the depths of the sea after he had killed the Night King.

Just before his fingers could grasp the sword, he heard Bran's voice, "That sword can only be wielded by one who proves himself worthy of it. Not a man or a wolf... but a dragon."

Jon looked more closely and noticed that the pommel was no longer the white wolf that the old Lord Commander had fashioned for him many years ago. Instead, it was a silver-headed dragon head with ruby eyes.

"This is the choice. The only choice that matters." Bran said as he reappeared and knelt beside Jon, "You can choose to leave and keep running. Disappear beyond the Frost Fangs, never been seen again. Or you can be who you were born to be."

“A Stark… and a Targaryen.” Jon stated, letting those names sink in, no longer feeling the animosity he did when saying his true lineage.

“The King of the Seven Kingdoms, the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.” added Bran.

"King?" Jon asked, a pained expression on his face. "I was a King once. A long time ago. I never felt like I deserved to be one back then, why should this time be any different?"

"Because this time, no one is naming you but yourself. And if you do choose it… you won’t be alone…" Bran answered.

Jon was about to turn to him again to ask another question but Bran had vanished. The orange glow behind the weirwood tree dimmed.

Jon was alone in the darkness with Longclaw still an arm's reach away from him. Jon stared hard at it.

_Am I ready? Father asked me to be strong. But I'm not. He said to never forget who I am. But I've forgotten, haven't I?_

_I've done nothing but run from the truth, because I was afraid. Afraid of myself, afraid of hurting the ones I loved, afraid of not being worthy enough._

_Rhaegar and Lyanna. My parents. Is this who you wanted me to be? Who am I? What am I?_

_A vagabond or a king?_

Jon's eyes narrowed. _I'm done running. I’m done being alone._

With a renewed determination, Jon reached out to grab Longclaw. As his hand grasped the dragon-head handle, Jon felt a strong pull from behind and he cried out as his body was dragged backwards.

* * *

 

Jon's back landed on fresh snow. He was outside again, in the forest. It was still daylight. The storm had abated and the wind had died down.

Jon breathed hard staring up at the snowy canopies of the trees. He lifted himself up and saw his horse some distance away, tied to the trunk of a tree. He looked down at his hand and he realized that he still had Longclaw in his grasp.

Jon gave short laugh of relief as he held up the sword. Pulling the sword from its sheath, Jon inspected his old weapon, which did not look the least bit well-worn. Instead, it was as if it was newly forged and the Valyrian steel glimmered as he held the sword up.

"It's good to have you back, old friend." Jon said as he sheathed Longclaw back and tied the scabbard to his belt.

Jon walked towards his horse and untied his reins from the tree. As he mounted the horse, he sighed with a new vigour he hadn’t felt in years. Looking up, he saw the raven he had been chasing fly above the trees.

_Thank you Bran._

Jon turned his horse back in the direction he came. He had been running from the South for too long.

_No more._

Jon kicked the sides of his horse and as he galloped through the forest.

_I’m going back…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI. Despite R+L=J, I'm still calling Bran, Arya and Sansa as Jon's siblings and not his cousins. Because really, they are his true brother and sisters and those who say otherwise, fight me LOL  
> Thanks!!


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